


quality time

by princedemeter



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pining, Quality Time, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29910078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princedemeter/pseuds/princedemeter
Summary: “George,” Dream says. “Wake up. We have to go inside and I’m not carrying all your shit.”“’M ‘sleep.”Dream says, “If you don’t wake up now I’m going to have to carry you inside.”“Mm-kay.”Uh-oh.Based off a tumblr post.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 709





	quality time

**Author's Note:**

> based off [this](https://n4b3.tumblr.com/post/645037383076741120/what-if-when-george-goes-to-america-hes-all-jet) post from @n4b3 on tumblr

George is actually in Dream’s car. Right there. In the passenger seat. Sifting through Dream’s glove compartment.

“Aren’t you supposed to have gloves in here?”

Dream keeps his eyes on the road. Dream is keeping his eyes on the road. Dream is not, for example, studying every little quirk of George’s movements, the twitch of his brow, his lithe arms. The floppy strand of hair that hangs in front of his forehead.

“What?” he says.

George rolls his eyes. “I was making a  _ joke,  _ Dream. Keep up.”

“It wasn’t a good one,” Dream says, in defense of him not paying attention to what George had said. 

“Whatever,” George says, and yawns. His eyes scrunch up and he scrubs his face with the heels of his hands. 

Dream is keeping his  _ eyes on the fucking road. _

“I’m going to sleep,” George pronounces.

“But you only just got here!”

“You said it’s forty-five minutes!” George thrusts a hand out at the road. “I’m tired. It’s like, midnight for me.”

“You don’t like – wanna see the sights of Florida?”

George squirks an eyebrow at him. “Don’t I have a  _ month _ to do stuff like that?”

Dream can’t stop himself from smiling. A month. George is going to be here a month. (At least – he’s  _ planning  _ for a month. He hasn’t even bought the ticket home yet.) “That’s true, I guess.”

George curls his knees up to his chest and leans his head against the window, eyes fluttering shut. “Wake me up when we get there,” he says, and yawns again.

“Okay, George,” Dream says quietly, and keeps driving into the sunset. The fucking sunset. What the  _ hell _ is he supposed to do about the romance of it all? What is he supposed to  _ do? _

It’s actually quite nice. He and George spend –  _ spent, _ now that George is in America, and doesn’t that send a thrill of excitement down his spine – a lot of time on calls not saying anything, just going about their days, or sleeping. A lot of silence. Just time together. 

The first time it happened, George had asked Dream to stay on call while he slept. When Dream had asked why, he shrugged and said,  _ I dunno. It’s nice. _

Dream wanted to make food. George told him to transfer the Discord call to his phone and keep him on the line. George was working on a coding project, and Dream offered to leave to be less of a distraction, and George said,  _ You don’t distract me, _ and Dream said,  _ Yes I do, _ and George said,  _ Well you do, but it’s a  _ _ nice _ _ distraction at least. _

Dream gets what he means, now. George is here, snoring in little puffs in the passenger seat of Dream’s carefully-cleaned Toyota, and they’re not talking, but Dream has never been more content. He’s  _ here. _ Being next to him is enough. No music, no talking, no radio. Not even the crime podcasts Dream is so fond of. 

Fuck, he’s got it bad.

They reach the house too soon, and Dream shuts the car off. George does not stir. Dream pokes him. “George.”

No response. Dream prods him again, this time a little tougher. “George.”

Nothing. Dream uses the Voice. “ _ Geooorge.” _

George stirs, if only barely. “Mm?”

“We’re here,” Dream says.

“Mm-hmm.” George turns further away from him.

“ _ George,” _ Dream says. “Wake up. We have to go inside and I’m not carrying all your shit.”

“’M ‘sleep.”

“Be unasleep.”

“No.”

Dream, who does not have any kind of foresight and makes rash decisions, says, “If you don’t wake up now I’m going to have to carry you inside.”

“Mm-kay.”

Uh-oh.

“Did you hear me?” Dream asks, and instead of backing off, doubles down. “I will carry you inside.”

“Carry me then,” George mumbles.

Fine. Fine! Fine. Fine. Dream will fucking carry George over the doorstep of their house, in which they are going to live, together, for an undetermined period of time. This is a great idea and in no way can it go wrong.

Dream hops out of the car and circles to the passenger’s side, opening the door and reaching over George to unbuckle his seatbelt. He crouches down and carefully winds an arm around George’s back, right underneath his arms, and his other arms he tucks under George’s knees. “Careful of your head,” he murmurs, and carefully,  _ oh-so-carefully _ stands up with George cradled in his arms. 

Dream ignores the way his entire  _ soul _ is lighting up at the contact and instead kicks the car door shut with his foot and makes his way up the pavement to the stairs up to his and Sapnap’s house. George fits so neatly against his chest, warm and peaceful, his eyelashes dark against his cheeks. He’s light, too; Dream’s not struggling to hold him, and oh,  _ that’s _ a feeling he’s going to have to unpack later, when he’s not near George, not thoroughly and completely consumed by his presence. 

He has to ring the doorbell with his forehead when he gets to the door. Fuck. Sapnap is  _ never  _ gonna let this go. Oh, this is going to be so bad. Dream is considering hiding behind the wall when the door swings open and Sapnap appears.

His face swings through a myriad of emotions, from confused, to surprised, to horrified, and then, to Dream’s dismay, it lands on delight.

“Oh, you’re kidding.”

“Shh,” Dream says through the screen door. “He’s asleep.”

“Oh, he’s  _ asleep –  _ you’re carrying him.”

“He wouldn’t wake up!”

“This is too good,” Sapnap says, and then even  _ worse, _ he takes out his fucking PHONE.

“Put that down and let me in.”

Sapnap aims his camera.

“Do not take that picture.”

Sapnap takes the picture. 

“Delete that immediately,” Dream says, as Sapnap pushes the screen door open. “ _ Immediately. _ You dickhead.”

“Absolutely not. I’m sending this to your mom.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Dude, he – ! He’s so fucking small on you!”

“Please don’t say that to me.”

Sapnap looks  _ overjoyed. _ “You just fucking  _ carried him over the doorstep.” _ He pauses and looks at Dream with baby eyes. “You didn’t carry  _ me _ over the doorstep.”

“You fucking _wiggle._ I would have dropped you.” Dream bends his knees and gently deposits George on the couch, where he continues happily snoring on, blissfully ignorant of the rage of emotions battling for control in Dream’s head as he stares at him. George. On the couch. In his house. Oh, wow.  _ Their  _ house.

“Ayo, simp. Are you gonna go get his stuff from the car or what?” Sapnap asks.

Dream flips him off and heads out to his car anyway, ignoring the peals of laughter emanating from the house.

There’s only one word to describe him right now. Fucked. He is  _ fucked. _

**Author's Note:**

> i churned this out in like 30 minutes appreciate my time & effort >:)
> 
> @princedemeter on tumblr   
> @princehestia on twitter


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